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     A long lament, as for the dead,
In sadness make.

Of all we loved and honored, naught
     Save power remains;
A fallen angel's pride of thought,
     Still strong in chains.

All else is gone; from those great eyes
     The soul has fled:
When faith is lost, when honor dies,
     The man is dead!

Then, pay the reverence of old days
     To his dead fame;
Walk backward, with averted gaze,
     And hide the shame!


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1850 AD (1)
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